Shadows of a Memory
by wilde88
Summary: It takes an old memory to bring Sherlock back from the dead. And why does he hate Mycroft? And how does John feel about the whole situation? Flashback to Young Holmes boys. Spoilers 2x3 Post-Reichenbach. First Sherlock fanfic. Let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

I don't anything. Some very luck people do though...

Just an idea swimming around in my head

Kitty Riley smiled at the girl sitting across from her. She was an American who'd come over to do a story on the real Sherlock Holmes. They'd been in the café for about an hour discussing the information, the article she'd wrote, and Richard Brooke.

"So…I'm just…slightly confused," the American said, "Mr. Brooke gave you all this information, but…I suppose things are different in American…did you actually research Mr. Holmes? You know talk to family, school friends, look at any records?" Kitty rolled her eyes.

"No Richard Brooke's gave me proof that Sherlock Holmes paid him."

"Well, it just seems like poor journalism." Kitty coughed, choking on her tea. This American had spunk.

"And do you not feel somewhat guilty? Your actions, your discussion to expose this truth…resulted in a murder and a death. Am I right? So it's safe to say your role as a journalist…isn't really about protecting the people with the news they need. It's about doing what it takes to get a story. Am I right?"

"Ms. Singerson, are you trying to insinuate something?" Kitty asked. There was something nagging in the back of her mind.

"No," Ms. Singerson smiled, "I have my proof right here." She held a photo up of Kitty, in what one would call a compromising position, with Richard Brook.

"How the hell-"

"-And a bank statement show a large amount of money was deposited into your account." Ms. Singerson smiled. Kitty looked down at the picture and bank statement. She looked up at Ms. Singerson with confusion and surprise.

"What do you want?"

"You read Dr. Watson's blog right? You remember _A study in Pink? _the word carved into the floor board?" Kitty's face fell. A wave a nausea washed over her.

"You want to kill me?" Ms. Singerson laughed.

"No. I don't want to kill you. I would like you reprimanded for bad journalism. Whore like you ruined my parents. So…I would love to implore medieval torture methods on you. But no, I don't wish to kill you. Mild torture yes. Death no. But…" she stressed the -, "That's not my decision. That's yours." Kitty gulped hard. "See there's a man with a gun on the roof top over there. Aimed at you. And he can see the information on the table. So…this is the crossroads we're left at…you can walk outside and get shot down and I along with you…or you can start talking telling me everything you know about Richard Brooks and get shot now sparing me." Ms. Singerson sat back and smiled casually drinking her tea.

Kitty frowned as she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. This couldn't be. That basterd had killed himself. He promised that with her cooperation she'd be let go. She'd be safe. Full to live out a happy career. Unsure of what to do she took a sip of her cooling tea. Ms. Singer son smiled.

"What?" Kitty nervously asked.

"Your tea. That's the first sip you took. Sure that's the decision you wanted to make?" she raised an eyebrow. Kitty looked down at her drink as she felt her heart thumping louder.

"What did you do to my tea?"

"I didn't do anything. But that tea may or may not have…shall we say…been exposed to a…chemical…that's going to poison you system. First its going to shut your kidneys down…then you'll suffer blood positing so if the kidney's don't kill you then," she sighed, "Your heart will." She took a look sip of her tea. Kitty loosened the collar from around her neck. "Want the antipode?" kitty looked up at the American girl.

"What? Give it to me," she demanded.

"First…You have to come clean."

"What? I was present with information from a first hand account."

"Right. And you don't double check the information. See the picture…see the paper with the numbers on it? I too had a first hand account and then I did my fucking job and did the leg work and got my proof. You don't see me drinking poisoned tea." Ms. Singer son slammed her folder down on the table. "You've got 72 hours to get your shit strait. Tomorrow morning when I open the door to the hotel I'm staying in I want to read in my paper how you lied. How you recently discovered that the first hand account was nothing more than a fraud and you've discovered that Sherlock Holmes was in fact not a fraud and you're going to use all this information I gathered to prove it." Kitty didn't know if it was the poison or the realization that hit her that made her feel sick.

"But…if I do that…then I'll be discredited and I won't have a job." Ms. Singerson frowned.

"I know. Should I live? Or Should I die with my career intact? Choices choices choices. But you'll do this. Self preservation always wins out," Ms. Singerson stood grabbing her coach bag.

"But…if you leave the snipers…" Ms. Singerson laughed at her. Then with a mischievous smile she leaned over to look Kitty very closely in the eyes.

"They work for me." Kitty looked out the window and on the roof top. She couldn't see anything.

"That's it? You don't want a quote? When I write this article I'm gonna make sure they know you're the one who killed me. Anything you want to say so I can tell the cops?" Kitty moved closer to Ms. Singerson's face.

"You're not going to do that. Because the police…they work for me. And you don't want to die…so you'll type the article and I'll ready tomorrow morning while I drink my tea and eat _jammy dodgers."_ She took a few steps away before pausing and looking back at the shaken journalist. "But if you really want a quote…" she smiled to herself mostly as she spoke,_ "You. Repel. ME." _She winked and went to leave.

As Ms. Singerson stepped out into the rainy London rain she pulled put her phone and waited for it to ring. Answering it she quickly said,

"Operation Lazarus is a go."

She ended the call and looked up at the closes CCTV camera, blew a kiss and disappeared into the London crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope your enjoying. Please review, I wanna know what you think or what you want to happen.**

**I Don't own anything except Melody and her family. BBC owns everything else.**

John sighed sitting in the corner booth of the small Italian restaurant. From where he sat he saw Angelo chopping at some hamburger. This is where they'd had their first dinner together, worked on solving their first case together. _Oh stop it, _John thought to himself, _you make it sound like you were dating the man. _

"It's been almost six months." John snapped out of his daze to see the ice man himself sitting in front of him. Mycroft was nursing a glass of white wine in his hand and looking over the doctor. "Sherlock once told me this place serves an excellent linguini I suppose I shall finally try it." John looked the man over before looking around.

"When did you sit down?" John asked with a simply quizzical look.

"Right after you ordered your drink. I was going to wait for you to get done but then I thought, we're acquaintances and sometimes acquaintances have dinner together. Besides, I don't really have a reason to keep driving you around do I?" He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his wine. John looked the man over. He was the same old Mycroft with maybe a few more lines under his eyes. But then that was just it, he was Mycroft.

"You would be honest with me, wouldn't you?" John quietly asked. Mycroft seemed a little surprised.

"About what?"

"About Sherlock. You would tell me if he was alive and playing some game?" Mycroft shifted in his seat.

"Why are you asking?"

"I read the article this morning. The one that Riley took back everything she said." Angelo smiled as he sat the two dishes of authentic Italian food in front of the men. "No one would have done that. That story made her career. She wouldn't take it back it would make her unaccredited Then after the story comes out she ends up dead. And now here you are. So…you know that Sherlock was my best friend and I like to think that I was his and I like to think that you would tell me if he was really alive." John ignored his food as he search Mycroft's face for some sort of emotion, just the slightest twitch that would give him hope. Mycroft simply took a large bite and stared blankly at the doctor.

"I was wondering if I could ask for your help," he finally said avoiding the previous statement altogether. "There's someone that forced Ms. Riley to do what she did. I need to find them."

"Why did they do that?" John asked still not touching her food.

"Because they know something. What I'm not certain. But they did it to get my attention." He swirled his wine before taking a drink. "Are you going to eat?" John seemed to snap from his trance a bit and picked up his fork to poke at the pasta in front of him.

"Why?" John asked taking a bit. Mycroft shrugged.

"Until I know who it is, I'm not entirely certain." John nodded taking another bite.

"But how can I help?"

"They obviously think Sherlock is alive. And I think that they'll come looking to meet you." John nodded. He glanced around the restaurant. It was nearly empty save for a family of four and a gentleman at the bar. This was odd to him. Mycroft asking for his help. He'd only seen him once after the funeral, but of course he sometimes noticed the camera's moved at time as if they were following him.

"You didn't answer my question." Mycroft looked up at him and for once John could see he was turning an answer over, searching for the right words.

"I would. If Sherlock was alive I would tell you if I knew. The problem is that with our bad blood, I don't know. I keep looking for him. Hoping that I'd see him. But…alas…if he's alive only he knows it. He always was one for theatrics." He finished off his wine, his eyes coming back to the present.

"Do you think he is?" John quietly asked. Mycroft faintly smiled.

"Between you and me, it helps me to sleep," he pushed his plate away and looked at the watch.

"What happened? Between you two?" John looked up from his half finished plate.

"It all began with our father…"

_"Hey Sherly!"_

_Sherlock gripped his school books tighter and quickened his pace as he made his way home. He wished his mother had either left work early or allowed him to wait with her. She worked at the school he and Mycroft attended. She was an English teacher and took her work seriously._

_"HEY SHERLY!" the two boys yelled once again this time running to catch up with him. "Is it true what my dad said?" Sherlock shrugged. "He said your dad ran off with a woman. Who wasn't your mum. That true?" Sherlock shook his head and attempted to hurry up and get ahead of them._

_"'Ey," the other said, "We talking to you."_

_"My mum said that he was in an accident over seas," Sherlock quietly answered. The two laughed at him._

_"What's with your funny haircut?" the larger of the two shoved him onto the grown. Sherlock let go of his books, arms flailing out to the side as he landed hard on his bottom._

_"Why you so strange?" the blonde asked._

_"He's daft, that one. Maybe we should help him out," the big one said. The blonde one nodded and kick Sherlock in the face. They both laughed as Sherlock's hands raced to his face to stop the spurting blood._

_"HEY!" came the shrill yell of another child. There was a whizzing sound as medium sized rock went flying through the air and collided with the side of the blonde ones head. "Git outta here!" Sherlock turned to see her. She was the mystery girl of their town. Recently moved in the old manor. Her father was one of the teachers at the school, but she didn't attend. _

_"What the bloody hell?" The fat kid yelled. "You're gonna get in trouble for this! I'm telling your father!" _

_"Go a head! I'll have kicked your ass by then." She pushed the sleeves of her hoodie up and marched herself over to the scene. She stepped over Sherlock and reared herself up as far as she could arms crossed against her chest. She only came up to his chin, but she had the look of a killer in her eyes. "Get the hell outta here!" She yelled again. The fat killed laughed. Though he would never hit a girl, he gave her a forceful shove. _

_"Come on shrimp, let us boys play. Get on your boat and go back across the pond." _

_When Sherlock would later explain what he saw that moment to the adults who were just now coming upon the scene he would only say one thing. _

_"It happened so fast." _

_In the moment they made physical contact, the girl had her knee in the fat kids groin. As he hit the ground her tiny fist made contact with his eye then his nose. It was at this moment both Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Ravensdale walked upon the scene, Mycroft in tow. Sherlock on the ground with a bleeding nose, the blonde boy laying seemingly conscious on the ground with a large cut on his forehead, and the fat one, curled up in fetal position with a bloody face. _

_"WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED HERE?" shrieked Mrs. Holmes. _

_"Shit," the girl hissed. _

_"Sherlock are you alright?" Mycroft said rushing to his side and helping him up. _

_"Melody Noelle Elspeth Ravensdale," Mr. Ravensdale calmly said, "What did you do?" At the use of her full name her eyes widened. She looked down at Sherlock then back at her father. _

_"Unleashed hell," she calmly said. Mr. Ravensdale shook his head and turned to Mrs. Holmes. _

_"My apologies," He said, "My wife and daughter have just arrived from the states. As they say she has a bit of fire in her belly. " _

_"Sherlock did you have anything to do with this?" Mrs. Holmes asked. _

_"Yes…I beat up him," he pointed to the fat kid. Melody simply cocked her head in surprise at him. _

_"Mycroft take the children to the manor," Mr. Ravensdale said, "Mrs. Holmes and I will assist these boys home. We'll negotiate punishment when we return." _

_Ravensdale Manor was a prestigious place. Mycroft and Sherlock had always said they were going to live there one day. Both boys were somewhat jealous of the girl who led the way. Once inside Mrs. Wallace fixed them up a snack and cleaned up Sherlock's bloody nose. He sighed when she finished, catching a look in the mirror he saw a huge piece of gaze taped to his face. _

_"What did those boys say?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock poked at the sandwich in front of him. _

_"Nothing." _

_"Don't lie. They said something about Father didn't they?" Sherlock's eyes met his brothers. Mycroft brought his fist down on the table. "Don't listen to them. And don't worry about Father. He's gone and he's not coming back. We don't need him." Sherlock glanced at his brother. _

_"But he promised for my birthday-" _

_"-he promised a lot of things. You've heard the rumors. I think it's obvious that he broke them." Mycroft rose from the table and left heading out the front door. From upstairs came scream. _

_"Just keep eating your snack sweeties," Mrs. Wallace smiled, "Nothing to worry about." She scurried up the stairs leaving Sherlock and Melody alone. She was a small girl. With a long strawberry blonde braid down her back, her dark blue eyes were locked on the boy in front of her. _

_"You need spunk," she said. "You shouldn't let people stomp on you. You got kick there ass. Show them whose boss. Stand your ground." She nodded as though it would solidify her statement and took a large bite out of her sandwich. Sherlock watched her. She wore jeans and a purple hood. They looked a little beaten. _

_"Why are your cloths torn. Doesn't your father have money?" Sherlock asked. It seemed to surprise the young girl. _

_"I get into stuff. Go on adventures. What about you? Your parents pretend to have money? Or do you just pretend to be better than everyone else?" _

_"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked. _

_"Because," she said, "You live in the little cottage on the old farmland. Your shoes are kind of beat up and you need a new pair, but your school uniform is brand new." She took another bite. Sherlock looked over himself. She was right. _

_"How did you know that?" _

_"Daddy taught me. Says you can look a person and know everything about them. He's a doctor. Well use to be a doctor. So it's important to look a person and know what they do so he can tell them how sick he is." She took a long gulp on her chocolate milk. Sherlock finally picked up his sandwich. _

_"If he's a doctor why is he at the school teaching?" There came another scream followed by the muffled pleas of Mrs. Wallace. _

_"The accident. Hurt his hand. Can't operate anymore. SO now he teaches." Melody caught Sherlock staring at the ceiling. "It's just Mommy. She's have a bad day." Sherlock nodded as he took another bite. _

_"What do you mean?" _

_"She's sick. Everyone says she's mental." Melody finished her milk. She sat waiting for Sherlock to finish. "I'm 8," she said. He looked her over. She seemed to small for 8. _

_"I'm eleven," he pushed his plate away. "How come you don't go to school." _

_"I have tutors. Daddy says I'm to rowdy. Until I can be a lady I can't go to school." Sherlock nodded in agreement with her father's decision. She had spunk. _

_"Wanna go play?" she asked. _

_"Shouldn't we wait til our parents get home?" he asked. He knew his mother was already on a short fuse. _

_"NO. Daddy knows. And he'll be upset and well be punished. But…we can still go play. We have animals. There's a goat…and a hose…and a pony…and a peacock…and chickens…and a emu." She beamed._

_"An emu? Why do you have one of those?" Sherlock asked. _

_"I don't know." _

_"Let's go see it." _

_"Ok." The two kids bound outside tearing to the barn. Mycroft was sitting in a chair reading. _

_"You two better get back inside! Mother's going to be furious!" Sherlock stopped looking back at Mycroft. He looked at Melody and shook his head. _

"_He's right." She frowned and crossed her arms. _

"_You are going to see the emu." She said. "COME AND MAKE US!" She yelled grabbing Sherlock's hand and running back down the path. Mycroft shifted in his seat and shook his head. _

"_Children," he murmured returning to his book._

"Father was never there. So I felt that being seven years older. I needed to step up and be a father to Sherlock. It made mother proud," Mycroft said . "I stopped being the cool big brother and became the enforcer. That's when it went sour." John nodded finishing his water.

"Just call or text if I find anything out?" he asked. Mycroft nodded.

"I'll be in touch."


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again I don't own anything. Please review.**

"Oi!"

John smiled at the pretty girl who'd just dropped a box of dishes. It was more than obvious she'd broke every single dish that was in there. She stood there in front off the familiar black door and simply smiled.

"Need some help?" he asked attempting not to smile to get a to mischievous grin on his face

"Oh…No no, I wouldn't want to trouble ye'" she said pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Irish, John couldn't help but smile even bigger. He always got lucky with the Irish.

"I promise it wouldn't be any trouble at all," he looked at the moving truck. "How about I grab a box you haven't broken?" She laughed.

"I would greatly appreciate it," she smiled even bigger.

Gloria Scott had moved into the flat across the street. She was a musician and worked at a pub a few blocks over and a music shop a few blocks the other way. She was kind with a large smile and she loved to cook. Since helping her move into her flat she constantly had John over for dinner always thanking him for the help. She'd been there for a month today. John looked over his calendar and frowned. He had a single thing written on it.

_Sherlock's Birthday. _John frowned sitting back in his chair. He was suppose to have dinner with Gloria today but that wasn't going to happen. He sighed running his hands through his hair. For the past month he'd nearly forgotten about Sherlock. There had only been a dream of him, just standing there by the window playing he violin. He remembered when he found out Sherlock's birthday. He'd planned on getting him a nice present. Sheet music. Across the way he saw Gloria coming up Baker Street. She was carrying a file full of what he assumed was papers from the music shop. Suddenly as if out of now where a rather tall man appeared and ran almost directly into her, causing the files to go every where. He quickened his pace as Gloria scrambled to collect the papers. John saw this and quickly grabbed his coat crossing the street.

She was looking in the direction that he'd gone. John stooped to pick up the papers that were still on the ground.

"You alright?" he asked. She turned surprised to see him. "Oh, John 'aye didn't see you. Thank you for pick up me papers."

"I saw him from the window run into you. Are you alight?"

"Yes…I just…he reminded me of someone?" she seemed to go off into a trance, "Six foot blonde short hair. He was a bastard." She turned to John. "Are ye alright? You seem a lil sad."

"Yeah," he said, "Um…I was going to see my friend. Today would have been his birthday." He glanced down to see sheet music in his hand. He felt something in him drop, but for once the tears didn't come.

"Anything I can do?" she quietly asked. "How bout aye make a cup of tea?" She smiled that sweet smile.

"_Would you like to come over?" John asked not wanting to be alone. She smiled bigger and nodded. John smiled too leading her across the street. _

_Mrs. Hudson spotted them coming across the street and smiled. It was about time John got out and met knew people. Since…the incident…he hadn't even brought a girl home. This was good. He needed a new friend and a new lover. She paused catching her thoughts…she need a new lover as well…Mr. Jenkins turns out had several different ladies on several nearby blocks…but that was a problem for another time. _

_John had tidied the apartment. Everything had a proper place…although Sherlock's things for the most part stayed where they were. They were tidy…but John felt like leaving them out had kept him from being to lonely. _

"_Do you want a cuppa?" he asked. "You can have a seat." _

"_Yes please," her smiled filled John up in a way he hadn't been lately. _

"_These all ye things?" She asked. John looked around to see her looking over things. _

"_Um…well…some of them…some of them belong…belonged…to my flat mate." He cleared his throat and returned to the task at hand. _

"_OH…yes…your flat mate…sorry sorry I forgot…" _

"_No…no…it's ok. I've been dealing with it…and you help a lot." He handed her a cup as she smiled and thanked him. _

"_Bit cluttered," she said. She raised an eye waiting for a reply. _

"_Yes I thought so. But then you get use to it." She nodded as those pleased with his answer. Taking a sip she she pointed to the skull on the mantel piece. "Apparently an old friend." She nodded again. Finally, as though pleased with her findings she said down in the black leather chair. _

"_Sorry if I'm a bit nosey," she grinned looking around, "But its an interesting collection." _

"_Sherlock was an interesting man." John nodded and gazed into the fire place. A trance seemed to come over him. _

"_You alright?" John turned to see Gloria kneeling on the floor, her small delicate hand on his knee. Her eyes were a dark ocean blue with glints of sapphire color to them. They were full and warm. _

"_yeah…it just…you know." She nodded slowly. _

"_I remember when I lost my best friend," she quietly said. John raised an eyebrow. Aside from coming from Kearney and owning a music store she had never really spoke about herself. _

"_How did you lose them?" John quietly inquired. Gloria glanced down at a ring on her finger, her eyes becoming lost in a mist._

"_Fight. Misunderstanding. His brother." She pulled away and returned to the black leather chair. John wanted to grab her wrist and pull her back. Anything to keep that connection and keep her close. She looked around once more and her eyes settled on that old tattered case. The mist cleared and they became bright again. "You play the violin?" she grinned. John smirked then shook his head _

"_Nooooo. Not mine." _

"_Oh, I'm sorry I should just stop looking around." She bashfully took another sip of her tea. _

"_Do…you…play the violin?" he slowly asked. She tried so hard to hide the smile. _

"_Yes." She finally said. "Me father hired a tutor. He had some money. My mum she loved music. Was in an orchestra when she met me father." Gloria looked down at her tea. She took a final sip and stared down at her tea. _

"_Do you want…" John began. She quickly looked up at him. "You may look at it." She smiled jumping up and sitting the cup on the corner of the desk she had flipped the latches and had it out in an instant. _

"_Wow…"she breathed, "This is…beautiful. Well taken care of…well…mostly taken care of…he played it often?" John nodded slowly. "You can always read a person by how well they treat their instruments." She smiled carefully handling it. She held it up and smelled it. "He smoked?" John nodded again slightly uncomfortable. "This is a truly beautiful . Just needs new strings and a little woodwork." John tilted his head to watch her as she held it correctly and carefully pulled the bow down letting a C fill the room. She looked at John again gleaming. Turning to look at him she sat down on the edge of the chair and began her tune. John watched her in amazement as she did so. The was beautiful something john thought he'd heard once but nothing immediately came to mind. She carried on for a few more minutes before finally stopping. _

"_Beautiful…just needs new strings…" She carefully placed it back in it's case. _

"_Do you sing?" John asked standing and moving closer. Gloria nodded. _

"_Not as much as I use too," she bashfully said. Just smiled as he slowly moved closer and then she saw it…there in the door and her gasp caused John to quickly turn around. _

"_Sorry, I suppose I should have knocked," Mycroft said. "Please tell me who your friend is?" _


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own anything. PLease review. Got a bit of a flashback going on here...**

"This is truly wonderful," Sherlock said plucking the violin's string. Melody shot him an evil look.

"Don't break my strings," she hissed. She was currently standing on top of a bar stool attempting to reach the top shelf of a bookcase in her father's study.

"Teach me," he said from his place on the sofa.

"No. It's hard, I hate it."

"I want to learn to play an instrument."

"You look more like…a base."

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're tall." Melody replied. She grabbed the piece of paper and jumped down landing hard on her knee.

"You ok?" Sherlock asked. She nodded and limped to the sofa. Sitting down she heard her father coming down the hall. He stepped into the room and smiled at the children.

"What are you laddies doing?" he asked pulling things out of his pockets.

"We're board," the two said in unison.

"Where's Mycroft?" Mr. Ravensdale asked.

"Studying for his entries," Sherlock answered, "Mother says she'll disown him if he doesn't get accepted into the top universities." He shifted in his seat rather annoyed. Mr. Ravensdale nodded in an understanding fashion before turning to look at his daughter.

"Get your school work done?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"Did you find the clues I left you?"

"Just got the last one," she said holding up a bag. It seemed to be a game the father and daughter played. When ever Sherlock came over after school Melody was collecting clues that her father had left her. She was then expected to sit down and put the puzzle together. He timed her seeing how fast she could solve it. Today's clues were a dagger, red towel, a book on magic and a four leaf clover. Mr. Ravensdale pulled out his watch.

"Get ready get set…go."

"Macbeth."

Mr. Ravensdale and his daughter stopped to look at the lanky 12 year old in front of them. Sherlock could see Melody's eyes cloud over with anger. She was extremely competitive and her temper surged when someone stole her thunder.

"Sorry," he squeaked to his only friend.

"Explain," Mr. Ravensdale simply replied, "Why do you say Macbeth?" "A clover is representative of Scotland. A book on magic relates to witches, a dagger relates to murder and a red towels…it's not covered in blood but it's the color and Lady Macbeth thought her hands were covered in blood when they weren't. "

"You got all that from these things?" Mr. Ravensdale peered over his glasses.

"Well…you are covering it in class sir." Mr. Ravensdale looked over at his daughter. She sat with her arms across her chest obviously angry.

"Melody…go see if Mrs. Wallace has anything for you."

"But-" her sentence was cut short as her father glared at her. She stomped out of the room and paused to stick her tongue out at Sherlock. When Mr. Ravensdale was gone certain she was out of ear shot he turned to look at Sherlock.

"How's your mother? Haven't really had a chance to talk with her since she took the new job up the city councils office. Busy isn't she?" Sherlock nodded clutching the violin a little tighter. His home life was a little bit of a sore subject. "How long has your father been away?"

"Six months sir," he answered.

"How long have you been friends with Melody?"

"Five months sir." Mr. Ravensdale nodded. Since their first encounter he'd been at the house everyday.

"Mycroft…how's he? I'm sure with your father gone and your mother busy he must be the one who takes care of you? And I take it you don't quite like that?"

"No, I miss Mycroft being my brother and having fun. Last time we had fun was before father left. We went fishing together. Now Mycroft says he's the man of the family." Sherlock absentmindedly picked at the violin strings. Mr. Ravensdale nodded.

"Alright then," he said standing up, "It's been decided. Since you practically live here…you too shall learn the art of deduction." He began walking out of the room and motioned for him to follow. He headed upstairs. Stopping in front of what Sherlock new to be Melody's room, Mr. Ravensdale pulled a ring of key's out of his pocket and unlocked the door directly across from it. It was a large room with white walls, a large bed that had cherry chest with a matching head board.

"This will be your room. IF IF IF _IF your mother should give you permission to spend the night you will sleep here. If you come over from school and you do not wish to sit in the library all afternoon you can come in here. You have permission to tell Melody that she is NOT allowed in her. You can also decorate it as you please. Understood?" Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. "Good. Now sit." Sherlock sat down on the bed as Mr. Ravensdale pulled a chair from the desk. _

"_Now. Deduction. It is a simple art form that can change a man's life. It will make him the most envied man in the world. The key is not to get to carried away with it. Mycroft…I've had this conversation with him…pulls it off breathlessly. Don't get pompous with it. Just simply act like your privileged to the information. _

_What is deduction. Well it is one man simply using his senses and using logic to come up with an answer. For example…your shirt is a shade bluer than what it normally should be. I take it Mycroft washed the clothes and didn't sort the whites from the darks did he? Now why would Mycroft be doing the laundry? Well your mother did just get the new job at the council and it tells me that she's been to busy to stay at home and fulfill her motherly duties. Right?" Sherlock nodded. "You must simply use your senses my boy and logic. Every layman could do it. It's nothing spectacular. And with your IQ and I for detail you should be able to pull it off." Mr. Ravensdale smiled at the boy. "Be here tomorrow at ten' o'clock. We start then." _

_Sherlock sprang off the bed and nodded. Heading down the stairs. In no time he was out the door and halfway home. It was a small cottage, one that'd been in his family for years. His mother's family had been farmers and bee keepers. His father…well he didn't really ever ask. Mycroft was sitting outside on the porch with his book in hand. _

"_Don't," he simply said as Sherlock head up the steps. "Mother has company over." Sherlock sighed and sat down beside his brother. _

"_Could we go fishing?" he asked. Mycroft didn't look up from his book. _

"_I'm busy. You know that." _

"_I know. But I miss by brother. I want to do things like we use to. You know before dad left." Mycroft looked up at his young brother. It pained him but he knew he had to do it. _

"_Those times are over. I'm an adult now. I can't partake in your petty childish games." As he said this the door opened at a tall man with blonde hair came out. He nodded at the boys and got into his car driving off. Sherlock turned to see his mother smoothing out her dress and fixing her hair. He sighed looking back at Mycroft. He was right. There wasn't going to be anymore fun and games. _


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own anything. Please Please Please review :( I would really really appreciate it. I'm a college student who studies art (specifically I'm a printmaker) so I love all types of criticism and critiques.**

It happened on St. Patrick's day. John decided to walk down to the music shop that Gloria owned and see her. Maybe by her lunch…or dinner…maybe have a couple drinks and see if things led up the stairs to 221 B and into his bed room…or across the way to 224 E and into her bedroom. Either way, John Watson was hoping for a bedroom to come into play.

When he arrived at the shop he casually stepped in and nodded to some punk looking teenager sitting behind the counter. He knew Gloria's office was in the back. He slowly made he way back there and rounded the corner to see someone standing inside.

"No," she sternly said in an American accent, "I don't know any of the names of the assassins. Tell Mycroft that. If he's gonna breathe down my neck I'm not gonna work for him." He saw Gloria cross the office as the man backed up a bit. "And as for the cousin, well who gives a flying shit. Mycroft can check that one out on his own as well. I'm not his lap dog who's gonna say how high? When he tells me to jump." The man nodded and turned to leave. Back up quickly John ducked out of sight. Behind a shelf of vinyl. And that's when he noticed him. He was a tall blonde man that he realized he'd seen before. His imaged popped up in his mind…the funeral…the hospital…the café with Mycroft…running into Gloria…

"John?" he turned to see Gloria standing beside him. He smiled then remembered the tall blonde man but he was gone. "What are ye doing here?" she smiled.

"Thought maybe I could take you to dinner," he smiled. "Unless there's a reason you don't want to go."

"No no,"she shook her head. "I'd love too."

"Who…who was that you were talking to in your office?" for s second her eyes dilated.

"What?" she asked.

"There was someone in your office. Who was it?" She shook her head.

"IT was just a man from the bank," she said, "You know mortgages and what not." She smiled taking his arm. "You mentioned dinner?"

"No you did NOT!" John said. Gloria leaned back laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. Her head nodding vigorously as she tried not to spill her glass of wine.

"Oh we did, the school bully had bullied us for years and that day when he decided to pull my skirt up to see what was under it…"she shook her head, "We just let him have it. My friend had been taking boxing lessons. I myself sat in on them and helping him but I grew up…in rowdy environment. Bar fights were my thing and you didn't need no boxing lesson to learn how to fight that way. I took some martial art lessons. Nothing to serious. So I taught him those." She took another drink of her wine picked at her seafood. She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at John. There was thought in the back of his mind that was pushing itself forward.

"What happened to him?" John quietly asked knowing that it was going to kill the mood. "He was obviously your best friend. I'm surprised that your not married to the guy." Gloria nodded and pushed herself back. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. It was obvious this was a rather emotional subject.

"Another time," she smiled. She sat back up as a waiter brought a small tray to her. She looked at it curiously as he sat the tray down. "I didn't," she looked up to see the waiter gone. She shrugged looking back at John.

"What about your mother?" he inquired hoping to know a little more about her. He wanted a friend whom he knew more about, not someone who was mysterious whom he'd never know the truth about.

"She was American," Gloria grinned.

"Really?" John asked smiling as big as he could.

"Aye, my father and her met when she was here in London. She met him at the Rothko exhibit. She was a cowgirl from Texas. My grandfather owned an oil rig. She wanted to learn about art and see Europe and that's were she met my father." She nodded as the waitress poured her another glass.

"She was an artist?"

"Yes…unfortunately. The thing about creative minds is it drives them mad. Like Van Gogh." She became quiet as she pulled the lid off the tray. She gasp as a single slice of birthday with a candle on top. There was small card on the tray beside it. She smiled, picking it up.

"Why did the waiter give you a piece of birthday cake?" John asked leaning forward. Gloria read the note and grinned tucking it in her pocket. She smiled up at John.

"Because," she quietly said, "Today is my birthday."

John leaned back flabbergasted. This messed things up greatly. Had he'd know that it was her birthday he would have gotten her a present, not just dinner by itself. He wasn't getting anywhere near the place he thought he'd get tonight.

"I'm sorry if I'd known-"

"No,' she shook her head, "Dinner was enough of a present. I don't really celebrate it." She picked up her fork and scooted the plate to the middle of the table. "Want to share?" John picked up his fork and smiled it her.

"I still owe you a present," he grinned. He'd get there, one way or another.

Then...sometime ago...

_Sherlock Holmes stood awkwardly outside Melody Ravendale's door and waited trying to figure out what he'd say to her. She'd been acting weird and last week she'd gone to speak privately with his mother. She then promptly left their cottage without even looking at him._

_"Sherlock…Melody…she's having a difficult time," Mrs. Holmes began, "She's in need of a mum. And her mum…really isn't mentally capable of being a good mum. So I'm helping her out. Kind of like when Mr. Ravensdale or Mycroft give you fatherly advice since your father left to go live in Timbuktu."_

_"What's going on?" Sherlock had asked worried about her._

_"She's just growing up. She's not gong to feel well for a few days. Did you clean the shed? Mycroft's bring somethings home from uni. Go do as I asked."_

_Sherlock had known that he wasn't being told everything, but he didn't want to anger his mother when she was in the first good mood since her most recent boyfriend had left._

_Now, he stood pacing outside Melody's door contemplating what he was going to say._

_"Sherlock?" He turned startled to see her standing there. Hair in pigtails. "Why are you…pacing in the hallway? Oh…you have something you want to say?"_

_"Are you alright?" he quickly asked. She looked a little pale. "I haven't seen you in a week."_

_"I've been busy," she curtly said. She avoided his gaze._

_"What are you not telling me?" he moved a little closer to her. She was upset evidence she'd been crying in her red eyes. "Did someone hurt you? Are you alright? Melody this isn't like you." He saw he fist clenching out of the corner of his eye. She glanced away from him._

_"Come on Melody why were you crying?"_

_"PISS OFF!" she yelled slamming the door. Sherlock took a step back looking at the door._

_"Don't worry," Mr. Ravensdale said behind him. "She'd been moody lately." Sherlock nodded. "Summers here, Mycroft's coming home in a few days isn't he?"_

_"Yes sir," Sherlock frowned. Mr. Ravendale had always said Mycroft was one of his favorite pupils._

_"Well me and Melody are going out of town for a bit. Shouldn't be gone To long…come we've got things to discuss."_

_Sherlock glanced at the clock on his dresser and saw the time 12:03 am. He'd been awoken by a tapping on his window. He sat up in bed rubbing his eyes. HE looked at his window and saw…_

_"Melody?" he jumped out of bed opening the window. "What are you doing out in the middle of the night?" She pushed him aside and climbed in._

_"Seeing you," she shoved her violin case into his arms. "Father told me that he told you we were going out of town. Thought you'd watch this for me." She shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes. "Mom's having an episode." Sherlock nodded. Melody had told him that on occasion her mother would have fits and outburst at random times. These episodes upset Melody and she left whenever she could. But showing up at midnight… "Can I spend the night?" she asked. Sherlock nodded motioning to the bed. She climbed sitting up and waiting._

_"I'll sleep in the floor," Sherlock grabbed a pillow and threw it in the floor. Melody sighed rolling her eyes._

_"I don't have cooties. What's going to happen?" Sherlock nodded picking up his pillow and crawling into bed beside her. He stretched back out watching as she sat there up right._

_"What easier?" she quietly asked. " A mother who is to busy for you, or a mother who doesn't even remember you?" she looked down at him. He shrugged. "I'm going to America."_

_"That's what your dad said." She laid down beside him, facing him._

_"Sherlock…I don't know when I'll be back." She whispered this…like dreaded secret._

_"Your dad said just a few weeks."_

_"He'll be back in a few weeks. But with mom sick…dad's sending me to a school. It might be Christmas before I get back. It might be next summer." Sherlock's eyes were adjusted enough that he could see she'd been crying. But he could also see the wheels turning._

_"What are you going to do?" he asked._

_"Get sent home," she said. "You know you're my only friend."_

_"You're my friend." They laid there for some time just listening to each other breathe._

_"Will you be my first kiss?" she suddenly asked. "It's just for scientific purposes. And so that I can tell the kids in America I've been kissed and not get made fun of. No one else has to know." Sherlock thought about this for a moment. It made sense. There was something that could be learned. He nodded._

_"Do you know how to kiss?" he asked._

_"That's kind of the point of a first kiss," she replied. Sherlock felt her scoot close. He could feel her breath on his lips._

_"Right," he whispered. It was then, right as he said this she made her move. Their lips were pressed together and Sherlock instinctively pulled her closer to him. His hands found her soft silky hair. Hers found the back of his neck and his bare shoulder. They pulled apart looking at one another._

_"Second analysis I feel is required," she said._

_"Agreed," Sherlock said kissing her again. This time she kissed him briefly…small light kisses on his lips. He moved his hand up behind her head to hold her still and forcing her into a long deep kiss. They continued, laying there in his bed and snogging for sometme. Finally Melody pulled away snuggling next to him. Holding hands, she gently whispered to him._

_"I promise I'll come back."_

_Sherlock awoke the next morning to the sun shining in his window. Mycroft was yelling for him to wake up because he'd fixed crepes. Sherlock sat up looking around. He felt odd, his pants felt very wrong. He looked around the room seeing no evidence that Melody had been there. He needed a shower. Getting out of bed he stretched and pulled out the clothes he was going to wear for the day, kicking the closet door shut. He jumped as a loud clattering noise sounded behind him. Spinning around he found Melody's violin case. Attached to it was a picture of them when they'd gone fishing last summer and a note._

_"I hid the sheet music. Have fun. PS. Promise I'll come back."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**I don't own anything. **

**here's another flashback...**

Sherlock sighed drudging his way home throw the snow. Mycroft had come home yesterday for Christmas break and had informed him that he was going to be home till some time after the New Year. He'd fussed at him over turning in his University applications and sitting down and picking a university. He past the Ravensdale Manor. He hadn't really spent any time there in the last few months. Mr. Ravensdale was always away and there was no need to visit since…

It had been almost two years since Melody left. She hadn't even come home during the summer. Mr. Ravensdale for some reason wanted her to stay in American. When Sherlock inquired about it, Mr. Ravensdale ignored the question. He had no real reason to think twice about the place. He received letters once a month from Melody and if that's the way it was, fine. She was just another connection.

"'EY! FREAK!" Came a bellow from behind. Turning around a large ball of ice made contact with Sherlock's left eye. He fell back spread eagle in the snow. A large round boy with a crocked nose and tall blonde boy ran up on him.

"Whatcha doin'? running home to place house? Daddy come home yet? No? IS that why your mum is shagging everyone around?" the fat one asked.

"How observant you are Jones. What can I do for you today?" Sherlock didn't move. Normal if he just lay there on the ground they'd go away.

"What about that brother of yours? What's he do?"

"Works in London." Sherlock sighed. He was getting cold laying on the ground.

"Remeba all them years ago? When 'im and that girl beat us up?"

"Yeah…I do."

"What…seven years ago?"

"Something like that." "We never made him pay." The blonde boy grabbed Sherlock around the color and pulled him to his feet. Pulling his fist back he further busted Sherlock's left eyes.

"Don't forget to lemme have a crack at him," the fat one said. The blonde boy dropped Sherlock back on the ground and the fat one delivered a swift kick to the ribs. Sherlock jumped onto his feet the best he could taking stance. He'd recently joined the school boxing team. Though he hadn't won very many fights, he wasn't going to stand down. He swung, uppercut, fist making contact with the fat one's jaw. The blonde one aimed for the ribs making contact. Sherlock stumbled backward before catching his foot and sending him backwards. Fattie came at him again and this time a loud crack echoed through the country side. The three boys stopped and looked over to see a four-wheeler. They turned to look at where the noise had come from.

For the first time in two years, Sherlock Holmes smiled. The site he saw could possible a Christmas miracle.

"I really hate the feelin' of déjà vu," she said, "So…fattie vs. shotgun. Who ya thinks gonna win?" She cocked the gun again.

"Come on, you aint gonna shoot us."

"I've been in Texas for two years…try me. I really don't have a problem going 1776 on your ass. So…step away from the freak." the two boys back up. Hands in the air. "Come ere," she said pointing to Sherlock. He limped toward her. She climbed on the four-wheeler and Sherlock got on behind her. She handed him the gun.

"La'er," she yelled speeding off.

They arrived back at the cottage. Melody didn't say anything as she led Sherlock inside. He didn't say anything either. He was just happy that she was there and the one leading him into his own house.

"What the bloody hell?" Mycroft said from his desk in the sitting room. "Sherlock what-What are you doing here?"

"Merry Christmas Mycroft!" she beamed. Sherlock smiled…her voice seemed more…mature…more sweet. "Where can we get blood everywhere?"

"What happened?" he raised his voice.

"Um…kind of speaks for itself doesn't it?" she asked. She made her way to the kitchen. After carefully placing Sherlock in a chair she carefully helped him unbutton his shirt and take it off.

"Did those two boys do this to you again?" he asked. Sherlock looked up at his brother. Melody brushed past him and made for the bathroom as though she'd never left.

"I did ask for a ride home."

"You could have specified your reasons," Mycroft frowned, "Anything I can help with?"

"Nope," Melody said returning with bandages and a first aid kit. Mycroft snorted and returned to his desk. "Put this on your eye." She opened the fridge and handed him a raw piece of meat. Sherlock leaned back and did as she said. "Ok…You've got a cracked rib. So we need to wrap these up. Probably a little internal bruising but…you'll live." She smiled up at him. Her finger tips danced across the bruised areas on his torso. He felt something in his lower stomach twitch but he fought down the feeling and ignored it. Removing the steak from his eye he looked down at her.

"When did you come back?" he softly asked.

"I promised didn't I?" she replied, "I didn't give a time frame but I promised."

"How was America? I've got all your letters. How long will you be here? Can we go up to the manor?" He was excited that she was here and he didn't want to let her go this time. She unraveled the ace bandage and motioned for him to sit on the table.

"There's no one at the house," she said.

"No one at all?"

"No." She said this with a very sad expression in her eyes. Sherlock knew something was wrong. Two years without seeing her and he didn't miss a beat telling something was off.

"Where is everyone?" he asked wincing as she pulled the bandage tight.

"Dad's away on business. Mom's been…moved. And since no ones there…well there's some staff there. Mrs. Wallace. I mean the house doesn't shut down. But There's no one there. Heats on…everything works…But most of the housekeepers are at their house you know." She tied the bandage off and swapped the meat for an ice pack.

"Do you want to go up to your house?" Sherlock asked. She slowly shook her head. Grabbing her hand Sherlock lead her to his bedroom down the hall and slammed his door shut. Mycroft huffed once more as a focused in on his paper work.

"What's going on?" he asked sinking onto his bed.

"Dad got into a little bit of a mess. I had to go somewhere safe," she quietly whispered. "I'm back because well, one I graduated and I'll be off to school and two…mom…mom has a brain tumor and there's nothing the doctors can do." She batted away a few tears as she said this last part. They sat there for a moment starring at one another. Then as if reading each others minds grabbed each other in a tight embrace, each afraid this was just a dream and if they let go the other would be lost for all eternity. "I missed you so much," she whispered, "I would lay there in bed at night and just wish a could have one more conversation with you. One more time out by the pond. One more stupid violin lesson." Sherlock smiled at her.

"I just wanted someone around who wouldn't call me freak and whom I could actually have intelligent conversations with. And someone whom I could play a good game of Cludeo with." They both laughed. "Promise you won't leave again?"

"Promise you'll come with me if I have too?"

They smiled hugging each other tighter.

Mrs. Holmes didn't arrive from her business trip until late Christmas evening. She walked in to see the children had fixed Christmas dinner. She stopped when she saw Melody standing there over the stove arguing with Mycroft.

"No you havent let it cook long enough," she said.

"I've cooked far plenty more Christmas dinners than you."

Mother Holmes shook her head and turned back to the living room. Sherlock sat there Discovery Channel on.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock," she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the head. He looked away from the television and looked up at her shying away. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, "How was your trip? Di d you get business taken care of?"

"Yes," she said shrugging off her coat and sitting down to take off her shoes.

"Good. How'd your meeting with the board go?" His mother looked up at him with surprise.

"Where you trying to be funny?"

"Was it a good attempt?" he asked.

"Go wash up for dinner," she sourly said. Standing she made her way back into the kitchen. "Melody! It's been so long since I last saw you. I must say things were quiet while you was away although quite depressing." Melody smiled and nodded. She'd never really gotten along with Mrs. Holmes, but since Sherlock seemed to behave slightly better with her around, she wasn't going to complain.

"Did you have a good trip mummy?" Mycroft asking smiling as he sat the last of the food on the table.

"Yes Mycroft I did," she said moving to kiss him on the forehead. He smiled taking his sat. Sherlock came in dressed in his school uniform. He sat opposite of Mycroft. Melody was across from Mrs. Holmes. They started off in silence. It was Mrs. Holmes who made the first move.

"So Sherlock have you decided where it is that you're going?" she asked.

"I have," he looked up and smiled at her. Melody glanced sideways at her friend.

"Good good," she smiled at him, " I'm sure some of Mycroft old uniforms-"

"I've decided on Oxford."

Silence.

Not the awkward kind. The bad kind. Melody was looking around for an escape route. Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft were boiling with anger.

"I thought we agreed on Cambridge," Mrs. Holmes quietly hissed.

"No, I said I'd apply to Cambridge but after giving it careful consideration I have decided that Oxford would suit me better." Mrs. Holmes glanced over at Melody.

"Did you-"

"-Nope. Fully accepted and agreed to go to Cambridge. Father…his name pulls weight," melody quickly said hands innocently in the air.

"Sherlock you will go to Cambridge like your brother."

"No I won't," he said crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

"Sherlock…mother says,"

"Mother's not the one going."

"Did you hear something…I'm going to go check…over there…" Melody quickly removed herself from the table.

"What did you say?"

"Mother's not the one going to the University is she? Thereby it's not really her decision. She went to college and met father and we all know how that turns out. There's no need for me to go to Cambridge. Let's be honest, Mycroft only went so he could come home on the weekends and check on me because you were always out. Let's not go into the reason's you were out." he took a large bite of the roast in front of him. Mrs. Holmes had tears swelling in her eyes as her face turned red and Mycroft sat there with a glare in his eyes. At this time, everyone heard melody close the front door as she retreated to her own house for safety. She'd seen the Holmes spats to many times.

"Go to your room," she said quietly.

'Mother," Mycroft began.

"Go to your room because I don't want to see your face!" Sherlock shrugged then made his way.

When he crawled out the window Melody was waiting for him by the fence. She knew that after that spat he'd crawl out and head up to the house. She stood there in silence looking over him. Once she was finished she led him in silence.

"You angry with me too?" he asked as they neared.

"Yes," she said. She'd never lied to Sherlock. There was no need and it made her gravely different from everyone else. She was an American who was brutally honest. She believed that there was no nice way to tell someone they didn't look good in those pants. So she just let them have it. Sherlock had never found it offense. He found it polite and took it as a model of how one should act.

"It's hard for me," she said, "You have a mom whom you're able to have intellectual conversations with. I'm not. So sometimes I think what you do is mean. I get it. I know why you do it. It's just hard to watch. Sherlock nodded. As they entered the foyer he looked up at her and smiled.

"So…Cambridge?"


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own anything.**

When John stepped into the front door of 221B he could tell something was off. Mostly because Mrs. Hudson's door was open. By open, slightly off the hinges. Cautiously John entered, looking around. The furniture was a mess. Things were overturned. Blood was smeared on the linoleum floor in the kitchen. John frowned quickly searching the apartment.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled. "Mrs. Hudson!" he grabbed the phone and quickly dialed police. They were quickly on their way. Not her. He couldn't live with out her, she'd helped him so much.

"We'll get a sample of the blood," Anderson said, "See if we can get a match." John nodded. He was sitting on the bottom of the staircase waiting and watching as the unit inspected every detail of the flat downstairs. He was crying, knowing that Mrs Hudson was dead in a gutter somewhere cut up like a butchered pig.

"John," Lestrade said standing just outside the front door. "When was the last time you saw Mrs. Hudson?" John looked up at him.

"Before I left for work." Lestrade nodded and smiled at him. "Why?"

"What are you doing in my flat?" John looked up and nearly knocked Lestrade over the steps. There she was standing on the other side of the yellow tape next to Gloria.

"What's going on? Did you do something stupid?" One of the officers, someone new, held up the tap to allow her in. John rushed down to give her a hug and take the groceries from her. Gloria had a handful and handed John a bag.

"Where were you?" he asked still hanging onto her.

"We went to the market," Mrs. Hudson said, "And come back to this?"

"The door was off the hinges and blood was in the kitchen, everywhere," John said, "I thought…someone had gotten you." His eyes were welling up with tears. Mrs Hudson reached over and gave him a hug.

"It's alright dear," she said, "I'm fine."

"I don't want to be in the way of things," Gloria said, "I'm just gonna…go home. Lemme know if you need anything," she glanced up at the steps where Lestrade stood. "Call me or text you know…" she nodded toward John and Mrs Hudson then quickly hurried across the street. John turned back to Mrs. Hudson and carefully, as though she were a glass doll, led her inside. She was deeply upset at the sight she saw and began fussing about her things and the mess the police had made. John turned to see that Lestrade was still watching the apartment across the street.

"Something wrong?"

"Who was that?"

"Gloria," John said, "Moved in a few months ago. Lovely girl, from Ireland. Owns a music shop." Lestrade nodded before turning to look at his crew.

"Something wrong?"

"No…no…she just…has a familiar face." He turned away from John. "If we've got what we need let's wrap it up so the old lady can get back to what she needs."

"hey!" Mrs. Hudson called out. "Ima hafta scrub my floors. Not going to be pleasant."

"I'll take care of it," John said hugging her again. "Just give me a mop and a bucket."

"You're doing that wrong." John turned from the floor and looked up at the back door to see Gloria standing in it. She was wearing a white tank top with shorty shorts and flip flops. John could see her feet were perfect and her toenails matched her manicured fingernails. She had a tan, and her hair was in a loose ponytail to the side. It made him smile. She had a simple beauty about her. "Pour the cleaner over it…then let it stand for about two minutes, then you don't have to scrub as much."

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"Why you asking that?"

"I don't know. Just felt I should."

"My friend lives on the other of London, cut their hand cooking this evening, I went over and wrapped it up. Fool won't go to the hospital. Just a little frustrated. Mrs. Hudson al right?" John nodded standing up. His knees were sore.

"We don't know what happened. We think it was just a break-in that went wrong. But she's fine, I'm fine. Your fine. That's all that matters to me." He walked over and smirked at her. She smiled up at him. He pulled the yellow gloves off that Mrs. Hudson had forced him to wear and ran his index finger over her shoulder and down her arm. "You know…you've really been there for me these past few months. You've helped me through some really hard times. Can I take you to dinner? On a proper date?"

John Watson thought a part of him died when he saw her face fall. She was happy and content one minute then the next she looked like she was going to cry. He'd done that. It wasn't what he wanted at all.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"I haven't been honest with you," she suddenly said. She pushed that strawberry blonde hair back behind her delicate ear. "I'm afraid if I told you the truth you'd never speak to me again." John looked down at the mess that was still on the floor. After a moment he looked back up at her.

"How could it be-so bad…that I would never speak to you again?" He straightened up.

"I'm here in London because someone's after me. From back home in Ireland."

"Why would that make me never speak to you ?"

"There are things I can't tell you."

"Does it have to deal with Mycroft?" He decided to be bold. He didn't wanna leave this. He wanted to be her hero. Take her upstairs and never let her leave.

"How did you know…"

"The music shop. I heard you mention his name a short time back. I just thought maybe I'd heard wrong." She rolled her eyes and wiped away a tear.

"It's a matter of national security mixed with personal conflict," she said. "I should go I'm soo sorry," she turned to head down the steps when John caught her and pulled her back. Twirling around she ended up in his embrace with his lips pressed next to hers. She pulled away.

"I-I-I," she was at a lost for words. "You're a good kisser." John smiled then moved to kiss her again. This time she returned it before pulling away. "There's a man after me because I know where he can get four hundred million pounds and in exchange for protection Mycroft has me investigating Singer Holmes." John was attempting to kiss her again when he stopped. He let go of her and took a step back.

Singer Holmes. The cousin that had come up. He wished Mycroft and the Holmes would just leave him alone already. He just wanted a nice girl with a nice job and nice…assets…and he wanted a normal life. No more Holmes. No more psychologist. John Watson wanted peace.

"He's here in London?" John asked.

"Yes," she said.

"And you…I assume you're in witness protection?"

"Something like that."

"Is there someone else?" John felt that familiar feeling. The feeling that things were slipping away from him. He'd felt it too much in the last few months. This couldn't get away. He needed a break. Gloria still didn't answer. "IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE?" he yelled this. He hadn't meant too, it just seemed like a damn broke.

'I'm not sure," she said quietly crying. "How…How can you not be sure?" He felt himself ready to cry.

"Because I haven't spoken to him in a while," she said, "Damnit John it's August, I've been here since November and you're just now making a move? I was starting to think you were gay."

"IM NOT BLOODY GAY!" he yelled. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm really really sorry. I didn't know you…I didn't know you…I'm gonna leave now." She moved to go out the door when Mrs. Hudson called.

"Everything alright?" she asked looking around the kitchen. "I heard you yelling." Gloria shook her head and hurried out the door into the dark. "What happened?"

"Gloria," John said ," GLORIA I'm Sorry," he called as he ran after her. "GLORIA PLEASE!" he saw and heard the door slam across the street. He sighed and returned to kitchen.

"When are you going to learn," Mrs. Hudson said, "I swear John Watson, you're never going to find a girl with that attitude." she brushed past him and put the kettle on. "It's going to be a long night."

John jumped when he opened the door to the flat and found Mycroft sitting in the chair. He rolled his eyes and said nothing as he said he bag down and headed into the kitchen. Mycroft realized he was receiving the silent treatment and smiled, stood up and faced the doctor.

"Miss Scott had told me that you have been informed of her reason for being here," Mycroft smiled. "I know that you will keep quiet about it?" John slammed the cabinet door shut.

"Why can't I have one good thing? I wish I'd never met you or your brother because since then…oh…since then I haven't had decent relationship, or a good nights sleep." He sighed and moved to get to cups out of the dish drainer.

"I know you don't mean that," Mycroft said, "And I Know you're upset. But I may have good news. There's been a sighting…" John quickly stopped and looked up at him, "But we haven't been able to verify what I saw on the camera. But the camera never lies."

"Sherlock's alive?"

"It's beginning to look that way." John nodded and braced himself on the counter.

"How would we find him?"

"You don't find him. He finds you. What did Miss Gloria tell you about herself?" Mycroft asked looking at him curiously.

"That someone was after her from Ireland and you were forcing her to help investigate Singer Holmes." Mycroft nodded.

"I would like to invite you to dinner." John stopped pouring his tea and looked at the government official.

"I'm sorry but I even told Sherlock I don't-"

"Singer has asked to meet Sherlock's friends and family. I figured you could represent the friend and I the family. Ms. Gloria feels that Mr. Singer is infact Mr. Singer but…she recognized him as a familiar in the money scheme that has landed her in predicament she's in. I think she would feel safe if you were there." John nodded and handed him a cup. "So…it's tomorrow. Note that this is my father's side of the family. After looking at pictures it appears that Singer resembles Sherlock. He did always take after our father."

"And you look like your mother?"

"Yes…it became the but of several jokes throughout school."

"Alright. Where's dinner?"

"The occasion is formal."


	8. Chapter 8

**_I don't own anything._ **

John straightened his tie as he watching Mycroft get out of the car. They'd pulled into the most expensive restaurant in London and John knew by no means was he good enough to even look at the place.

"Nervous?"

"I bit," John said, "Can I ask how you've never met this cousin?" Mycroft leaned back on his umbrella and sighed. It was a fair question.

"Our father…he…was well known. Lead an active social life, I suppose you could call it that. His family really didn't approve of things…or his relationship with our mother. So…my aunts and uncle…never introduced us to their offspring I'm afraid. There were a few Christmas cards until father went on." John nodded, content with his answer. Mycroft nodded also and led his way into the restaurant.

When John saw her, he felt another piece of his heart drop. Gloria stood there, red pumps, with a tight black dress hugging all of her curves in all the right places. The straps fell of her shoulders in a -style. Her blonde hair piled loosely though elegantly on head. Mycroft smirked.

"Nice jewels," he said. Gloria turned around to face the men. John saw what Mycroft was talking about. She was wearing pearls, natural ones, a complete set. It wasn't gawky, but it was enough to make her look even more stunning.

"You look…wow…just…wow. Stunning I don't even…really know how to describe how good you look," John said. Gloria chuckled to herself.

"I think you did," she said.

"Right. I did," he blushed. Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Where is this cousin?" Mycroft ask looking around.

"He's on his-"

"GLORIA!" came a booming voice. John and Mycroft turned to see a tall blonde man standing with his arms open. "I thought maybe you weren't coming. Got a little frightened I'd be eating alone." Gloria glanced back at the men. John stood staring at the stranger. Mycroft was right. He was blonde, had more weight about him, and his eyes sparkled with emotion. He also needed a bit of a shave. John looked back at Mycroft.

"Hello Singer," he said holding out his hand. "I think we met once. I'm Mycroft. This is my acquaintance Dr. John Watson, he was Sherlock's closet friend and flat mate."

"Hi," John nervously said.

"Yes…John…I thought he was living with that girl? The American?" Singer said raising an eyebrow. Mycroft smiled in annoyance.

"Yes…that was a couple of years ago. I'm afraid there was a misunderstanding and she went back to America." Mycroft stiffened as he said this and John locked eyes on him.

"Pity…I know uncle always hoped she'd settle him down. Seemed like it might happen. He always said she was a sight to behold. Of course," he put his arm around Gloria, "I think it was a lie. He never saw you." Gloria rolled her eyes and stepped away. She motioned for the matierde.

"Holmes," she said. He nodded and led them away.

Once comfortably seated Gloria remained silent. She sat across from singer, next to John. Mycroft sat next to the cousin; their table next to the window that looked down across the busy London street. Their conversation was small revolving around politics, Sussex and business. Singer lived in Edinburgh and work at the university there. He taught literature. Gloria giggled at this. Singer smiled at her. Mycroft was simply annoyed he had to be there. John was fascinated with the Holmes that sat across from him. He looked similar to his dead friends, but was a much nicer person. He was easy to talk to and seemed intrigued by John's military career.

"Gloria," Mycroft finally said, "I must ask you a question."

"Go ahead," she finally spoke.

"Where did you get those earring and necklace?" She smiled at this.

"A friend gave them to me as a Christmas present before I moved to London," she said. "He has all sons and his wife died not very long ago. His sons are all grown and married and he always thought of me like a daughter so he gave them to me. I think...they were his mothers." She smiled coyly as she brought the glass of wine to her lips.

"So tell me," Singer said leaning in, "Is there…someone special in your life?" John quickly looked at her hoping she'd give a real answer.

"There was," she said.

"But there's not now?" he asked. Mycroft took a sip of his wine.

"Why does that matter?" John defensively asked.

"I'm just wondering…if Miss Scott was available. Such a lovely creature shouldn't be single. And if she is it's such a shame. I suppose I'd like to purpose a solution to that problem." Gloria shot a look at John. Up until now John had thought Singer Holmes was a nice pleasant, even swell guy. It had made him happy to see that not all Holmes were rude, emotionless, smartasses. But Gloria was either with someone, our John had dibbs on the first move. This bloke wasn't going to take her home with such obvious intentions.

"I'm married," she said, "An estranged marriage if you even call it a marriage. Funny, Ireland doesn't recognize it as a legal marriage. Nor does anywhere else. Probably should have checked into that before we did it but then again…we were in South America heavily intoxicated and under the influences of recreational drugs. For a long time we lived like a married couple, but then…you know…miscommunications are…bitches." She looked Singer in the eyes as she said this. He smirked.

"So…how long have you been separated?" John asked. He smiled inside. She was good at telling lies.

"Three years."

"I assume you still love him? Is that why you wear your ring on the right hand?" Singer asked gently reaching across and holding it. He held it up to look at the ring. John frowned. Well played Singer. Well played.

"You should never assume, _Mr. Singer. It makes an ass of you and me." "Fiesty," Singer smiled, "I apologize for upsetting you and if I were out of line. I would like to ask you to dinner, this week sometime? Just you and me." Gloria looked down at her watch. _

"_I'm afraid I'll have to answer you later," she said. "It's getting late and I must be going. I have a shop to open early." John quickly stood. _

"_I'll take you home," he said. "I've also got to be in the office early." Singer frowned. _

"_Where do you live? I'd be more than happy to see you home. No need for the doctor to go out of the way," Singer quickly thought up. _

"_They live across the street from one another," Mycroft lazily said. "Dr. Watson is more than capable of taking her home. Perhaps I can buy you another drink cousin?" Singer frowned and nodded. _

"_Yes," he stood and grabbed Gloria's coat quickly, "Let me at least help you." He held her coat up for her. "I should like to call on you." She smiled to herself but John caught it. "You work at the music store you told me about?" _

"_Yes," she said turning to face him._

"_I shall come visit. Do you sing?" Together they began walking toward the exit. John shot Mycroft a look before turning back to see Singer's hand on her bum. _

"_What the bloody hell! Who does he think he is?" John asked the lazy man. _

"_Suave I'll give him that," Mycroft said. "He is Singer Holmes." Then it hit him. _

"_Did you think…You're upset aren't you? You thought that was going to be him?" John asked. Mycroft shrugged. He finished off his nearly full glass of wine. _

"_Possibly. I might of thought it was odd this cousin would appear. But I checked him out. Everything checks with the records. And Sherlock would never be able to pull that off. Look at him." _

_John turned to see him standing outside, arm draped over Gloria's shoulder. She was wearing his jacket over his coat. Their breaths floating in a mist as they conversed. Then suddenly, he leaned over and kissed her. It lasted nine seconds, John counted. He felt his chest tighten a bit. He felt someone stab him with a knife when he saw Gloria return it, this one lasting twelve. She then laughed, patted his face and scoot into the cab that Singer had called. _

"_Better go," Mycroft said, "You did say you were taking her home." John sat there for a minute. Yes, Mycroft was right, Singer had more swagger and moves than both of the men currently sitting at the table, and that was at least 120% more than Sherlock would ever have. _

"_She waiting for you," Singer smiled as he took his place back at the table. John nodded goodnight and left. _

"_You're quiet," Gloria said halfway home. She'd been watching John the whole rid home. _

"_Was he a good kisser?" _

"_You saw that did you?" she asked. Scooting away from him. _

"_You told him you were married, then you snogged him in front of the restraint. You don't even know the man." John growled. Gloria nodded. _

"_Is this about me kissing him? Or me kissing you? " she asked. "Yes he was a good kisser. And I didn't snog him. It was a kiss. What right do you have to go and make assumptions on things you know nothing about?" She asked turning toward him. The cabbie looked up in the mirror at the two. _

"_Because I care about you! Ok? I care whether or not you get hurt, I care if you do something stupid, I care if you're having secret talks with people who work for Mycroft! I'm not bloody stupid! And you can do a lot better than him! He just wants in your pants and wants to get off with you." Gloria quickly hopped out of the car and slammed that door as it stopped in front of flat. John got out and stared at her._

"_And you didn't?" she asked. "I never led you on. I never made move that would give you the wrong idea or hint that I was looking for anything other than friendship did I?" she asked. John opened his mouth but the words didn't come out. For the first time since he saw Sherlock jump, he felt guilt. "See, this is why I stay to myself. Because people always misunderstand." She tuned to walk up the stairs of her flat. _

"_Gloria please," John scrambled to stop her, "I'm sorry I shouldn't have lost my temper-" _

"_And I wasn't lying," she turned with tears in her eyes. "I was married in South America. That was all true. He left because he was afraid and he didn't understand. Then we fought. Now he'd gone and I'm never going to get him back. I'm never going to kiss him again, I'm never going to joke, or sing to him again. Hold him close and help him relax after a long day. To argue about things, to challenge him. So I kissed Singer Holmes and I enjoyed it. I feel I deserve a little happiness after the last three years." And with that she slammed the door behind her. John sighed his breath floating in a mist up into the sky, taking his words of regret with them. _

_He'd lost his best friend. He'd almost lost his mind. For a moment he thought he'd have them all back and a girl too. But tonight had been the night. He realized once again that he wasn't getting his friend back. He wasn't getting the girl. He'd lost this game he'd been dragged into and now was the time to take a step back and sort it all out. He needed a new strategy. He'd hit rock bottom and now there was only one way to go. _

_Standing out on the sidewalk of Baker Street John Watson made a promise to himself. He was only going up from here. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi all! I know it's been a while since I last posted, but I survived finals! **

**As usually, I don't own anything.**

BRING BRING!

Sherlock fell back against the ropes face rapidly swelling from the punches his opponent had given him. His coach wiped him off the best he could, squirting water into his mouth. It wasn't looking good. This was his last match and he was going to loose. He need something to keep him going. Something so that he could go out with a bang and shove it in his mother's face. And Mycroft's. But mostly his mother's…no Mycroft.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He turned to see her standing there. But she wasn't really there, she was just a hallucination brought on by cocaine he'd taken before the match and the head trauma he'd recently received.

"Ma'am you can't be-"

"Piss off!" she snapped. She squatted down and took his face in her hands. "I didn't drive all the way here illegally without a license going 87 just to see you have your ass handed to you! Mycroft his gonna hear about this and laugh you into Scotland!"

"Mewwadee?" he asked through a swollen lip.

"Oh God, he's hit you so hard you have amnesia."

"Whaw awe you doiwin hewe?"

"Huh," she smiled, "You'd think I'd miss your last boxing match? Please, you'd know I'd miss that biology lab a thousand times over."

"You swipped an ezam to see me?"

"It was just biology. I'm failing anyway. Now…go impress me Sherlock Holmes or I will make sure Mycroft never gets done ridiculing you. This is just another puzzle. Just another game. And no body…but occasionally me, beats Sherlock Holmes. You can't let that beautiful brain go to waste. Got that?" Sherlock nodded and struggled to his feet. Melody dipped out of the ring and stood in the front row next to …. Sherlock looked at her one last time before the bell dinged again.

His opponent, Steven or Stephen or Stan had a good muscular build. He had the strength to throw the punches, but he'd thrown so many he was starting to tire. This could be an advantage. He swung, right hook, fist making contact with Sherlock's already bruised jaw. Sherlock heard a crack, he'd be losing that molar. Left under was next, contact with his ribs, that was defiantly broken. Sherlock fell backwards. In an attempt to right himself he ended up landing on said broken ribs. He couldn't do this. He was beat. Melody was wrong, this puzzle he couldn't figure out. He looked up and there she was.

ONE! Seb moved closer his arm slowly moving around her shoulder.

TWO! He leaned in, mouthing the words _It's ok, don't be upset. _

THREE! Melody turned to look at him, worry in her eyes.

FOUR! _Besides, it's Sherlock…I could do a much better job impressing you. _

FIVE! His hand gripping her shoulder.

SIX! The other hand cupping her breast..

SEVEN! Seb forcibly kissing Melody.

EIGH-Sherlock was on his feet. Right, left, upper hood. The two rights. Shawn was reeling back. He rushed forward again. Left left upper lower left right then straight to the center of the face breaking his nose. He fell flat. He wasn't getting back up either. Sherlock turned back to Melody.

ONE! She shoved Seb away.

TWO! Seb smiled and attempted to get close again.

THREE! Melody shook her head and took a step back.

FOUR! _Come on now, _Seb said, _What does Sherlock do for you?_

FIVE! Melody smiled and attempted to wiggle way from him.

SIX! _You should probably walk away and never speak to me again, _Melody said.

SEVEN! Seb grabbed her arm and pulled her back whispering in her ear.

EIGHT! She pulled away, disgust on her face.

NINE! Seb pulled her close and grabbed her rear.

TEN! Melody pulled her own fist back and let it fly.

HE'S OUT! The crowd soared as Seb fell backwards into someone else. Sherlock realized that his arm was in the air. He'd done it. Pulling away and jumping the ropes he grabbed Melody by the wrist and pulled her along to the locker room.

"Do me a favor, don't ever get near Sebastian again."

It was little moments like this one that he liked. Just him and Mel sitting on the sofa watching terrible wildlife documentaries. His face hurt and he couldn't see out of his left eye. Mel had patched him up the best he could. He looked over at her. She had that look.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. She didn't answer. "Melody."

"Hmm?" She made a noise but he didn't have her attention.

"Melody Ravensdale what are you thinking about?" he actually reached and hand out and pulled her face in his direction. She pulled away and looked him over.

"Just…thinking."

"About…"

"Stuff…"

"Melody."

"Dad's gone…again…some government work in America. Convenient. I mean…He did just get Mycroft that job…but I was thinking of taking time off of school. I've already got a degree in literature and history. I can get my masters later. I've been thinking of…taking off and seeing the world. You know…all college rebellion." She looked at him, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for his consent. He smiled to himself.

"When would _we leave?" he asked looking at her. _

"_Who said anything about we?" _

"_You came to see my last match, I'm sitting on your sofa, you've packed a rather large bag and…you promised never to leave me again. Not to mention I'm graduating tomorrow. So…you want me to go with you. When do you want to leave?" She pulled her feet up onto the sofa and placed them across his lap. She scooted herself closer. _

"_Graduation is just a ceremony. Whether or not you attend doesn't stop them from mailing you that piece of paper that says you're certified." _

"_And where would we go?" _

"_What did you have in mind?" _

"_I don't know. I have about…eight hundred euros and two credit cards and my bank card that has all my funds in it. And we all known how much money is in that…" she raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. He looked away and smiled. _

"_What would we do for money? What would the purpose of this be?" _

"_If we're out exploring and seeing the world…we wouldn't be sitting here…in Britain…bored." she rested her head on the back of the sofa. "Think about it…after you graduate…what are you going to do?" Sherlock quickly looked away. This was something that he had thought about and to be honest he had him somewhat concerned. His mother had been fusing at him about interview and Mycroft had wanted him to take a job in his department. He had his own funds. They could do this. He looked at her and smiled. _

"_I hear St. Petersburg is lovely this time of year." _


End file.
